


What You Lose, You Gain

by helens78



Category: due South
Genre: Aged-Down Character, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Prostitute, Begging, Dirty Talk, Humiliation, M/M, Mirrors, Prostitution, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-14
Updated: 2011-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:31:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armando Langoustine has a lot of teenage hustlers sent up.  This time it's a kid named Benton--seventeen, eighteen at the outside, and somehow Vecchio doesn't want to let this one go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Lose, You Gain

**Author's Note:**

> Possible warning: Fraser is aged down in this one, an unspecified "seventeen or eighteen".

The kid's suit didn't really fit him; it was short at the ankles and the cuffs, like maybe he'd had a growth spurt he wasn't expecting and he couldn't afford a new suit just yet. Still, Vecchio gave him points for trying; a lot of the kids that had been sent up to him were slouching, sarcastic whores in ripped jeans and t-shirts.

Not this time. This kid was maybe seventeen, eighteen if you squinted, and he had dark hair that was just long enough to curl. Vecchio couldn't make out his eyes in this light--maybe blue, maybe green--but he was beautiful, with smooth skin and a hint of innocence on his face that his job hadn't yet killed off.

The part of Vecchio that hated himself for this--well, he'd left that part of himself at the door. This was part of the assignment; this was something the Bookman had done, had done a lot. If Vecchio didn't follow through on it, there'd be questions--ironic, because there were never any questions about the Bookman's fondness for teenage hustlers; no one even mentioned it. The boys were sent up, and sent back down, and maybe one in a hundred stuck around long enough to be part of Langoustine's entourage--Vince and Lindy, who were in Langoustine's innermost circle of trusted men, had both started out that way, and they still proved their loyalty on their knees. Thank Christ Vecchio was a close enough match that way, because all it would've taken was an inch or two the wrong direction and this all would've been over.

But he knew how Langoustine worked, now; he knew what he had to do. He'd done it ten times, twenty, fifty; he'd done it and left enough of the kids limping to keep Langoustine's fucking _reputation_ intact. He'd thrown up once, after, early on when he'd sent a kid off limping and bleeding and thanking him all the same, but since then he'd kept his game face steady and he'd never gotten so much as a single raised eyebrow from any of his people.

So all that was left now was the part of him that could do this, that could get it up for a seventeen-year-old pretty boy with dark hair and pale, soft-looking skin; that part was already game, ready to get started.

"You'll do," he said roughly. "Get undressed and on the bed."

"Okay," the boy murmured. "I'm Benton."

Some of them gave a name, some didn't; Vecchio raised an eyebrow as Benton started taking off his tie. "Okay, Benton. You can call me 'sir'."

"All right."

Benton was quick about his clothes, neat; he folded everything up and put it on the chair by the window, and he walked over to the bed, totally lacking any kind of shame about being naked this way. He'd either been at it a while or he was a natural, and right now it didn't really matter which.

"Do you want me face-up or face-down, sir?"

It was Vecchio's turn to get undressed. He took his jacket off and hung it over the back of the desk chair. "Face-up."

Benton nodded and climbed up on the bed, crawling backwards until he was centered on it. Vecchio slipped his cufflinks out of his cuffs and set them on the dresser. He glanced over Benton's body: nice muscle tone. Maybe he spent what little money he made on a membership at the Y or something. Maybe he had a day job in physical labor somewhere. His cock was still soft, resting against his thigh, but as Vecchio looked him over, he got harder--by the time Vecchio's shirt was undone, Benton was fully hard, lips parted, breathing kind of heavy.

Good. This was always better when the kids liked it; either way, Vecchio could do it, could _make_ himself do it, but a kid that good-looking who was getting turned on just from being stretched out naked on the bed... yeah. This was going to be easy for a change.

"You like your job?" Vecchio asked. He shouldn't have been bothering with conversation, but he still had the rest of his clothes to take care of; small talk wasn't out of character.

"I like it just fine, sir," Benton said softly. "Is that all right?" Vecchio frowned at him, and Benton clarified: "Is it all right if I like it? Because if it's not--if you'd rather have me fighting or looking like I hate it--"

"No, I don't need you to fucking lie to me," Vecchio snapped. Benton raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything, didn't even nod. "You like it, fine--good for you. You don't like it, it really doesn't matter. You're getting paid."

He had the voice down, he'd spent weeks tape-recording himself and playing it back until the tapes scared him, but Benton's expression didn't change--he'd heard worse, maybe, or he just had the world's best poker face. Either way, Vecchio was down to his boxers now, and he stepped out of them and came over to the bed, not bothering with any foreplay, just climbing up and straddling Benton's shoulders.

"Mouth first," he murmured, not that that wasn't obvious, not that Benton couldn't have figured that out on his own. He reached down and angled his cock toward Benton's mouth, and Benton tilted his head up slightly to meet him. Vecchio rested his cock on Benton's lower lip. "Slow. My pace."

Benton couldn't nod, but he blinked up at Vecchio in a way that maybe signaled his agreement. Whatever it was he was trying to say, Vecchio was done talking; he slid his cock forward and let Benton swallow it down.

And Jesus _Christ_ , the kid could suck cock. He did more than just suck; he closed his eyes, let those dark lashes rest against his cheeks while his lips went tight around Vecchio's shaft. He moaned, softly, around Vecchio's cock; the vibrations went straight up Vecchio's spine and made Vecchio growl out his approval. Somewhere, lower on the bed, there was motion; if Vecchio had to guess, he'd say Benton was probably rocking his hips up, thrusting his cock into empty air.

"Yeah," Vecchio growled; he braced himself with one hand on the headboard and reached down with his other hand to sink his fingers into Benton's hair. Benton's eyes squeezed shut even harder, and his lips and tongue tightened up hard around Vecchio's shaft; his hands came up, and he moved his fingers tentatively onto Vecchio's hips. "Yeah, you can touch me," Vecchio murmured roughly, holding Benton's head still and pulling back an inch or two. "You can touch me. Come on."

Benton's hands gripped Vecchio's hips hard, then, and he tugged Vecchio down, trying to--Christ, trying to get more of him, trying to get Vecchio to fuck his mouth deeper. They were on the same page with that, then, definitely on the same page--Vecchio pushed down, pushed _in_ , sank into the warm slick heat of Benton's mouth and gave Benton what his hands and his body were asking for. Benton kept tugging, kept pulling, kept--God, it was like he wanted _all_ of it, like he thought he could _take_ all of it. Vecchio reared back, leaving just the head of his cock in Benton's mouth, and gave Benton's head a quick shake.

"Take a breath _now_ ," he said. Benton did, filled his lungs and looked up at Vecchio, and God, his eyes were so bright, so _willing_. Vecchio groaned out loud and started pushing in, and when Benton tried to tilt his head up to get more, Vecchio let him. It was easy to let him, easy to watch his cock disappearing down Benton's throat--further, and further, and then Benton got the angle just right and he was _there_ , his nose pressed against Vecchio's wiry curls.

"Fuck," Vecchio gasped. Benton made just the slightest hint of motion against Vecchio's cock--maybe a little bit of a nod, maybe, _God, yeah_ , if Vecchio was lucky. His hands confirmed it; he pressed Vecchio's hips forward, saying with his hands what he couldn't say with his mouth now: _do it, fuck me, fuck my throat._

Christ. _Christ_. Vecchio gritted his teeth and held onto Benton's hair and did it--drew back and shoved in again, and he felt Benton's throat tight around his cock and _yes, yes_ , God, this was good, this was so good, so _fucking_ good, this kid had a talent and a passion for his work and thank _Christ_ Vecchio was here to get all the benefit. He did it again, and again, and the kid was going to need to breathe soon--but Vecchio was starting to lose himself in the moment, in the role.

 _Breath, give him a breath, you're not the fucking Bookman..._

He drew back and let Benton suck in a couple of deep breaths, but Benton was impatient; he grunted and tried to tug Vecchio right back in.

"You like that?" Vecchio whispered. "You like getting your mouth fucked?"

Benton's fingers dug in, ten little hard, fierce points that all said _yes, yes, yes_ , and Vecchio groaned and braced himself again and _took_ \--Benton's mouth, hot and slick, the slight scrape of teeth Vecchio couldn't avoid at this angle, the tight squeeze of his throat, _yes_ \--yes, _yes_ \--

But no, damn it--no, he was too close, too close to coming this way. He drew back, and this time he didn't let Benton's demanding hands drag him back in. He swung his leg back over Benton's body and groped for the nightstand, grabbing a condom and handing it over. "Get this on me."

And he should have known, should have known how Benton would do it, but when Benton opened the packet and took the condom into his mouth, Vecchio nearly groaned out loud. Benton came up on all fours and crawled in between Vecchio's legs, and Vecchio just watched, stunned and nearly shaking, as Benton slid his mouth down on Vecchio's cock one more time, rolling the condom down and sheathing him in it, pulling back with the barest hint of a grin on his face. Oh, yeah--this kid knew what he was doing, knew how good he was.

"How do you want me?" Benton asked; his voice was barely hoarse at all, just a little bit of gravel in his throat.

 _Begging_ , Vecchio thought. _Fighting to get more._ He shook his head and nodded down at the bed. "All fours." When Benton started to drop down, Vecchio had a moment's flash of inspiration and grabbed Benton by the back of the neck. "This way." He dragged Benton around until he was facing the closet--the closet with its mirrored doors, a wall-to-wall reflection of the two of them on the bed.

"How much slick do you need?" Vecchio asked, picking up the lube, kneeling behind Benton. "You want it rough or easy?"

"Any way you want it, sir."

Vecchio reached down and grabbed a handful of Benton's hair, dragging his head back so he could see the two of them in the mirror. "That's not an answer," Vecchio growled. "I know this gets you off, so you tell me what's gonna turn you into even _more_ of a begging little slut for cock. You want a lot of slick or a little?" He grinned. "Or do you just want me to give you a little spit and go for it?"

He could feel Benton shuddering against his grip. "I--I like both," he whispered. "I like it both ways. I--a lot," he said, finally, "I'd like a lot of it this time."

"You think you're good enough I'm gonna book you for a next time? You think you got me that impressed already?" Vecchio was already going back to his spot between Benton's legs, already slicking two fingers with lube, a lot of it. He circled Benton's hole with his fingertips, getting him nice and slippery before even starting to work his way inside. "You got some ego for a cheap Vegas hustler--"

"Please, _God_ \--" Benton groaned and rocked back, trying to get Vecchio's fingers inside him. Vecchio rolled with the motion, keeping his fingertips light and teasing against Benton's hole. "Please, please--sir, please--"

"Please _what_?"

"Please... slick me up and fuck me," Benton said, and even with his head hanging down, Vecchio could make out a hint of red creeping up on his cheeks. Holy _Christ_ , the kid loved to suck cock, loved to get fucked, and still blushed when somebody made him ask for it. Ego or not, he was right: if Vecchio had anything to say about it, this wasn't going to be the last time.

He didn't, he realized; Vecchio had _nothing_ to say about it. But Langoustine could say anything he goddamned wanted, and right now--"You're goddamned _right_ I'm going to fuck you," he snarled, and he pushed two fingers hard into Benton's ass.

Benton moaned for it like he'd been needing it since the beginning, like he'd needed something up his ass since he first got his mouth on Vecchio's cock. Vecchio moaned with him; seeing and hearing that, he couldn't stay quiet, couldn't pretend he wasn't loving every second of this. He drew his fingers out, ignoring Benton's moan of protest, and slicked up further, getting his hand coated in the stuff, adding a third finger when he drove in again. Benton was _tight_ \--tight like a virgin, like the sweet young boy he was pretending to be. Vecchio could see the act for what it was now; Benton wasn't a virgin or an innocent or the cheap hustler Vecchio had accused him of being. Benton was young, yeah, but he was a fucking _pro_.

"Please," Benton panted, "please, I'm ready, I'm _ready_ , sir, _please_ \--"

"I'm _not_ ," Vecchio shot back, and even though his hand was dripping, even though the lube was smeared down the insides of Benton's thighs, he wasn't ready to stop yet. He had three fingers in, twisting deep, and he wondered if he could fit four. If he could fit all five, and feel Benton's ass tighten up hard against his wrist.

Not this time, though; not when he was so hard he was throbbing and he needed to fuck Benton _now_. He waited until Benton's pleas had dropped into low, desperate moans, wordless ones, and then he finally, finally drew his hand back, wiping it off on the bedspread.

He didn't ask if Benton was ready; there was no need. When he pushed in, Benton threw his head back and damn near sobbed with pleasure--Vecchio could see his face in the mirror, the way Benton was already lost to it, gasping for it, ready to take anything Vecchio wanted to give him.

Vecchio reached forward and got one hand on Benton's shoulder, and drew the other one down to his hip. Benton was slick enough to almost get lost in; he could take it. He could take _all_ of it. Vecchio started moving, started giving it to him, held nothing back as he drove _in_ , Christ, as hard as he could, as rough as he could, as deep as he could go, stroke after stroke after stroke, using Benton not just because he could but because Benton was fucking _beautiful_ taking it, fucking _gorgeous_.

"Please!" Benton moaned. "Sir-- _please_ , can I, can I--"

Vecchio dug his fingertips into Benton's shoulder. "Can you _what_?"

Benton groaned. "Close, sir, _please_..."

"Kneel up. Come here. Come _here_ \--" Vecchio dragged Benton up, facing the mirror, kneeling on Vecchio's lap. Benton moaned again as he sank down on Vecchio's cock, and Vecchio wrapped an arm around Benton's waist, his other hand still on Benton's hip.

Benton's eyes were closed; his head tilted back, came to rest on Vecchio's shoulder. Vecchio nudged his head forward slightly. "Get your eyes open," he whispered. "Open your eyes. _Now_."

He could see it--the moment when Benton's eyes locked on to his reflection in the mirror, when Benton caught sight of himself and everything his body was begging for. "Oh, _Christ_ ," Benton whispered.

"Yeah," Vecchio murmured. He left a kiss on the side of Benton's neck; he shouldn't have, but he couldn't stop himself. Christ, Benton was gorgeous. "I know you want to come for me."

"Please," Benton moaned, eyes slipping shut again. Vecchio rocked up hard into Benton's ass; Benton cried out, body tightening up, but he sank back down and shuddered, nodding. "Please, sir..."

"Open your eyes. You're gonna watch this."

Benton gasped, but he licked his lips and nodded, looking at himself in the mirror again. Vecchio slid his hand over, from Benton's waist to his cock, and he curved his fingers around it--not too slow, not too careful, because what he wanted right now was to grip Benton's cock and jerk him off roughly and whisper out--

" _Mine_ ," hot against Benton's skin, and Benton gasped and slammed back against Vecchio's cock, and even though his eyes narrowed to slits, he didn't let them close--he stared at himself in the mirror, impaled on Vecchio's cock, his own cock jerking in Vecchio's hand, and finally, finally, he was coming, hot slick streaks jetting forward and staining Vecchio's bedspread even more.

All that debauchery in the mirror was more than Vecchio could resist; he thrust up into Benton's ass, groaning along with Benton's pained sounds, and then he was coming, too, pulsing hard in Benton's ass.

He was dizzy by the time he came down from it; he sank his teeth gently into Benton's shoulder and then breathed out softly for a while, getting his wind back.

"You're staying the night," he said roughly, and he pushed Benton forward and eased himself back, drawing himself out with another slight groan. "You don't go anywhere until I say."

The look of surprise on Benton's face mirrored what Vecchio should have been feeling, inside, after saying something like that. Oh, he could justify it easily enough--say that it'd been too long since the Bookman took someone for keeps, that people were going to wonder why he was so picky these days--but that wasn't it, and he knew it.

Right now, though--he didn't care. He reached down and grabbed Benton by the wrist, squeezing hard.

"You hear me?" he asked. "You don't go anywhere until I say."

Benton nodded a few times before licking his lips and gathering up enough breath to speak. "All right, sir. I won't go anywhere until you say."

Vecchio nodded and then gave Benton a rough little push. "Go clean up."

Benton didn't need to be told twice; he unfolded himself from the bed and took off for the bathroom. He wasn't limping. Vecchio hadn't given him any more than he could take. After a few seconds, he heard the shower running, and he sat down on the edge of the bed and put his face into his hands.

 _This is how it starts, Raimondo. This is how you forget who you were. Maybe he's better off now, maybe not. But you? You just lost something._

And a little voice inside him, one he'd been faking for the last nine months, one he'd heard on a tape recorder way back when, answered: _Gained something, too. And I'm not giving it back now._

 _-end-_


End file.
